


Sing Me to Sleep

by effing-numpties (avenging_cap)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Barista Simon, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2020 (Simon Snow), Fleetwood Mac References, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Normal AU, Reading to Each Other, Sleepless nights, Slow Burn, Writer Baz, because how romantic is that, but not really because i can't keep these idiots apart, coffee shop AU, fangirl reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27759082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avenging_cap/pseuds/effing-numpties
Summary: Baz is trying to become an author. If he doesn't, his future plans will be altered dramatically. On top of this stress, annoying things keep happening to him, too. A cute but shitty barista makes his order wrong, and he keeps getting mail addressed to a "Simon Snow." That's when things get interesting.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 83
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter of this fic was made for the 2020 Carry On Countdown! I hadn't intended for this fic to get so long, but it kinda broke my writer's block, so here we are. The whole fic has taken on the vibe of the Day 5 Sleepless prompt, but chapter 2 is where we get the goods! 
> 
> Thank you so so much to my beta @Aristocratic_Otter. You make me sound much smarter than I am, and I appreciate you so much!
> 
> There are four chapters, and I'll post daily until they're all done. I hope you enjoy :)

**Baz**

_ Looking at him - his sword, his glimmering hair, his perfect skin - Edgar felt just an ounce of sadness for him. Jack would die within these walls one day. A pity, for someone as beautiful as he was. He would try terribly hard, but in the end, Edgar would burn the world to dust. _

I look up from my computer, blinking at the words I’ve managed to write. One whole coffee gone, and all I have is this shit opening. This is going to be a long day.

I sigh as I make my way to the counter, trying to break free of the cobwebs.

“Large peppermint mocha with oat milk,” I say, not meeting the barista’s eyes. My mind is still playing out plotlines, so I’m a million miles away.

“I’m doing well, thank you!”

I blink a few times, finally taking a look at the person taking my order. He’s smiling slyly at me, his golden curls sticking out from under his cap. “Excuse me?”

“These things usually start with ‘hello, how are you?’ You know, nice stuff.”

“Are you going to take my order or just complain about my manners?” I grumble.

The barista hastily grabs a cup and uncaps his pen forcefully. “Do you have a name?”

“Tyrannus.” I don’t know why I gave him my first name. Maybe it’s just an attempt to piss him off, to make him feel one ounce of the frustration I’ve felt for the past hour and will probably feel for the next several hours.

I’ve sufficiently pissed him off, though, because his eyebrows raise, and he rolls his eyes as he scrawls my name on the cup.

“Will that be all?”

“Certainly.” I hand over my money and head over to the other end of the counter. I hope he didn’t notice that I have the exact cost of my order memorized. It might soften my edges a bit, and I can’t have that.

I’m trying to figure out where to go next with my novel when a blonde woman at the counter calls my name. 

I thank her and grab my cup, eager to get that familiar coffee warmth in my chest. Before I can take a sip, though, I notice what’s written on my cup.  _ Tyrannosaurus _ . Still he’d managed to get the last word. 

Finally, I sit down and take a look at what I’ve written. It’s utter garbage. I’m not here to write a gooey love story, I’m here to redefine the genre of fantasy. Here to wow my father. I delete everything I have and start again.

I take a long, slow sip, expecting to be welcomed by the sweet chocolate-peppermint taste. I nearly spit out my drink, though, when I realize it’s a gingerbread latte. 

The barista really had the gall to question my manners when he can’t even listen to an order properly? At this point, I’m steaming mad, so I pack up my things and storm out of the cafe, dumping the coffee in the trash on the way out.

This was exactly the interaction I didn’t need today. Something extra to set me off. I can’t work at home, can’t work in the blasted coffee shop. I’m never going to finish this novel, and if I don’t finish this novel…

I can’t think about what happens then.

At last, I reach my apartment building. I stop to get the post on the way up and see that, yet again, I have a letter for a “Simon Snow.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. Is this an exercise in helping children learn about alliteration? 

As I slide the envelope under my neighbor’s door, I can’t help but wonder who Simon Snow would be if he were in my novel. Would he be the perfect chosen one, the epitome of heterosexual masculinity? Would he be the helpful townsperson? The love interest? Christ, I hope not.

**Simon**

“I’m telling you, Penny, this bloke was an absolute arsewipe!”

“Arsewipe, that’s a new one.” Penny doesn’t even look up from her book.

“Pen, this is serious, could you please look at me?”

Finally, she looks up at me, gazing into my eyes in that motherly way she has. “Simon, don’t go off about this, please. You had a rude customer. It happens.”

“You don’t understand!” I say, because she doesn’t. She doesn’t know how it feels to have your stomach fill with bile, to feel like you’re on fire. “He treated me like he was better than me, you know I hate that.”

“I know you do, but you’re going to have to get over it. If you’re lucky, he may never come to the cafe again.” She’s reached full on mother goose now. Penny is all pitying eyes and soft eyebrows.

I head to the fridge, getting out some of last night’s takeaway.

“I made sure of it!”

Penny gets up. “What do you mean  _ you made sure of it _ ?”

“I made him the wrong drink,” I say simply.

“You did not!” She hits me on the arm. “Simon!”

“What’s the big deal?” I ask, mouth full of food.

Penny pulls the container away from me. “It’s rude!”

“He started it!”

“You are an absolute child.” She shakes her head.

I make a big show of rolling my eyes. “Fine! I promise not to do it again.”

“Oh!” She heads over to the couch, picking an envelope up off the table. “Speaking of children-”

“Hey!” I interject, but she waves me off.

“Another letter from Matthew came today.”

“Brilliant! I wonder how he’s doing.” I can’t help but smile when I think of him. I’ve got so many sweet memories with the kid that being his pen pal is the least I can do. “Wait, why wasn’t it in the mailbox?”

Penny sighs. “I told you Simon, you keep giving out the wrong address. We’re apartment 2B, not 2A.”

“Oh. Well, it made it here anyways!” I push away the takeaway container and sit down on the counter.

_ Dear Simon, _

_ How are you? Are you excited for Christmas? Me too! It’s only a month away. I know you’re busy with school, but I really miss seeing you. Are you coming round anytime soon? _

_ Please come for Christmas! _

_ From, _

_ Matthew _

_ P.S. I love the red bouncy ball you gave me last time. _

_ P.P.S. Do you like candy canes? _

I realize I’ve broken out into a grin. Over the summer I started volunteering at the care home I lived in as a kid. At first I’d just come by for a game of football or two, but I really started taking a liking to the kids. Especially Matthew, who immediately attached himself to me when we first met. 

Between work at the cafe and graduate school, I haven’t had time to visit in awhile. My heart aches for those kids. I make a mental note to stop by after work sometime with the leftover 

scones.

The more I think about work, the more I think about that arsewipe from earlier.

“Penny!” I shout, although our apartment really isn’t that big.

She peeks her head around the corner and raises her eyebrows.

“Did I tell you his name was Tyrannus?”

**Baz**

I’m back at the cafe, writing. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t actually sigh with relief when I saw that Shitty Barista wasn’t working today. Now it’s just me, my peppermint mocha, and my sub-par novel. I take a deep breath and try to continue.

_ Edgar sat watching over his castle from a parapet. His dark robes spilled around him, sucking the light from the sky. The castle was a ghastly beast rivaled only by himself. So many rough edges and dark corners. So empty, for so many years. _

_ But if Edgar got his way, that wouldn’t matter anymore. _

_ If he couldn’t be happy, why should anyone else? _

I spend an hour churning out words, not caring if they sound remotely coherent. I just need to write, need to keep going, need to get a book deal. It’s the mantra I’ve taken to repeating over these past few weeks. As long as I keep going, I don’t stop long enough to allow my anxiety any breathing room.

It starts to get dark outside, and I’m distracted by the Christmas lights in the street. I’ve always liked how they make the darkness a little more bearable. It’s always been so dark during my Christmases.

Sighing, I decide to pack it up for the day. I still have no idea where I’m going with my story, but words are on a page. That’s all that matters. 

My feet traverse the familiar path to my building, stopping as usual on the way to pick up my post. And what do you know? Another bloody letter for Simon fucking Snow.

I race upstairs and find myself knocking loudly on his door before I can change my mind. The door opens to reveal a messy looking man in joggers and a beaten up t-shirt. As my eyes make their way up to his hair, I realize that his golden curls are all too familiar.

“Shitty Barista?” 

“Tyrannus.” His eyes look about ready to bug out of his head. What an absolute fucking numpty.

“Careful, Snow. Your eyes are bound to fall out if you keep them like that.”

He blinks, scrunching up his whole face in the process. “How do you know my name?”

I hold up his letter, and he snatches it out of my hand. 

“It figures, really, that you’d be the one writing my address on your mail.” I can’t help but goad him.

“How’s that?”

“Well you’re too thick to make a latte, so I’m not surprised that you don’t know the alphabet.”

“You’re a real prick, you know that Tyrannus?” 

Ah. He’s got a fire to him too.

“You can call me Basilton. Even Baz, if you prefer.” I extend my hand coolly. 

“Fuck off.” He bites back, closing the door in my face.

**Simon**

I’m just trying to do my work. Granted, that’s something I’ve never been great at doing. So I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that I can only think about Baz.

I can’t believe he lives across the hall from me. Just when I had come to terms with the fact that I’d never get to punch him, he shows up across the hall.

Across the bloody hall!

I decide to go bother Penny.

“Can you believe it was him all along?” I slump down onto one of the poofs in the corner of her room.

“Mm.” Penny continues typing away at her computer.

“I mean, he has the audacity to come to our  _ home _ and speak to me that way. With his perfect slicked back hair and his fancy clothes. And then he says,” I put on a posh accent, “‘ _ you can call me Basilton’ _ like it’s some kind of fucking favor.” 

Finally, Penny turns to me. “Si, I’d love to hear about your crush another time, but I have a lot of work to do.”

I feel my face flush. “My what? Penelope, I hate this man.”

“Mmhm.”

Not even ranting to Penny is safe anymore, apparently. I’m not even sure Penny notices when I leave the room, heading to the kitchen to take a cheesecake out of the freezer.

Of course I can make a fucking latte, I can make one in my sleep. I also know the fucking alphabet, song and all. I can’t stop going over our conversation, thinking of all the things I should have said. The familiar heat in my stomach rises to full on burn. He looked at me like I was stupid, and I’m not stupid. I’ve fought my whole life to prove that I’m not stupid, yet here I am, a bloody graduate student needing to prove my worth to some old money dick with a superiority complex.

I hook my phone up to the speaker and start blasting “Cherry Bomb.” The Runaways deeply understand my rage. Before I know it, I’m jumping around the living room screaming the words.

_ Hello Daddy, hello Mom, I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-CHERRY BOMB! _

“Simon?” Penny has to shout above the noise. “Can you please turn it down?”

“What?” I yell back, lowering the music.

“I have an exam tomorrow, Si. It’s almost one thirty. Can you go to the gym, or something, get that energy out somewhere else?”

“Oh.” I deflate. 

“I love you, Simon, but you’re driving me nuts.”

“I’m sorry. I’m going.” I grab my coat, but once I’m in the hallway I realize I have nowhere to go.

Then I see apartment 2A.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Simon is up super late and bothers Baz, who barely ever sleeps anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and the whole fic, really), was inspired by Day 5 - Sleepless of this year's COC.
> 
> Thanks again to my incredible beta, @Aristocratic_Otter.

**Simon**

Maybe if I wasn’t slightly delirious and still amped up from The Runaways, I might not have knocked on his door. 

But I'm subject to the electric power of “Cherry Bomb,” so I knock. A couple times.

The door opens slowly, revealing Baz in a pair of black trousers and a cable knit sweater. Are these his fucking pyjamas?

“Snow.” Baz barely moves his lips.

“Hiya!”  _ Hiya? _ “Penny kicked me out because I was being loud, and I figured you had nothing going on. You know, given that you’re such an arsewipe.”

“What do you want, Snow?” He sounds only slightly irritated. I kinda like playing this game of back and forth with him. Maybe he likes playing too.

“I want to chat!”

Baz’s eyebrows raise slowly. “Chat. At one thirty in the morning.”

“Is it that time already? I couldn’t tell by your trousers.” I feign sarcasm.

“I don’t sleep much,” he says softly. 

“Me neither.” For some reason, it feels like all the air has left my body.

He moves aside. “Right. Come on in then.”

It takes a moment, but I follow his lead. Baz’s apartment is nothing like I thought it would be. Not that I thought about it a lot. I mean, I’ve just been considering the general vibe of the bloke, and well, this is not it.

It’s surprisingly warm in here; the room is all earth tones, dark but comforting. He’s got a record player on, and I think he’s playing Fleetwood Mac. There’s even a shag carpet. Who is this Basilton?

“You’ve got a nice place.” It’s all I can think to say. How can I describe how comforting his apartment is without breaking this weird rhythm we have?

“You have a gloriously expansive vocabulary, Snow.” Baz doesn’t look at me as he settles into the couch. I take this as a sign for me to sit too, so I curl up in the armchair next to the fire (This man has a roaring fire. A fire!).

“I just meant it’s quite cosy, is all.” His coffee table is covered in books and papers. Even the couch next to him has pages scrawled with writing. “Were you working?”

Baz makes a sour face. “I was trying to. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I might as well be productive.”

“I’m sorry.” I can feel my face flush. “I didn’t expect you to be hard at work. I just needed a place to go.”

“I actually needed a distraction.” His face softens for just a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. “And you’re the dictionary definition of distraction.”

“Mm. Well, I can go.”

This growing softness between us is starting to weird me out. I think we’re too tired to really care about the whole coffee business, but I still hadn’t expected this out of him.

“Stay. You’re already here, and we can’t have you stomping about the halls at this hour.” A small smile is beginning, just in the corner of his lips.

I nod. I hadn’t quite figured out what I was going to do here. Really, I hadn’t thought past knocking. Still, I feel so comforted by this room, by the dim glow of the kitchen across the way. His apartment has a different setup than ours. I assume it’s a one bedroom, and it’s got a lovely open floor plan. The kitchen flows right into the living room and the small dining alcove. 

A familiar piano note rings out from the record player, and I startle.

“I love this song!” I exclaim. I close my eyes and sway a bit.

I hear Baz snort. “Figures you’d love such a sappy song.”

My eyes snap open. “‘Silver Springs’ is not a sappy song. It’s an angry song, Stevie is so fucking pissed at Lindsey. I understand that anger.” I’m surprised at myself for letting so much of myself out in the open, but I’m glad I did it. “Silver Springs” is worth defending.

“Did you know, in this recording, Stevie turns and sings directly at Lindsey at the end? You know, ‘You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman who loves you?’” Baz mentions, looking amused.

I lean back in my chair. “That’s fucking badass.”

“It is.” He blinks his eyes hard for a moment and looks around him. “I’ll clear all this stuff away so you don’t have to sit over there. I should have moved everything.”

“I shouldn’t have interrupted you working, though.” I can’t help but feel a little guilty.

Baz lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. I’m surprised the gel doesn’t stick to him. “Not getting much done these days.”

“What do you do?” I can’t help myself. I’ve been so curious about what he’s doing at the coffee shop. Well, besides brooding. 

“I’m a writer,” he says, moving the piles of papers and gesturing for me to come over.

I get up and position myself right on the opposite end of the couch, tucking my feet under me. It feels weird being so close to him, especially when we had a loud row in the hall just hours ago.

“What do you write?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Snow.” Baz’s face hardens.

“Ah, so you don’t write anything at all. Hence all the not working.” I grin.

“Well don’t look so bloody excited about it,” he sighs. “I’m working on a fantasy novel.”

I squint my eyes at him, almost as if to see behind his tough exterior. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here somewhere.”

“I have a deal with my father.”

“Ah, a blood pact.”

Baz pointedly rolls his eyes at me and continues, “If I can get a book deal by February, I can be an author. I can stay in this apartment and live my cutesy little writing dreams.”

“But if you don’t, you’ll die? Because of the blood pact?” I bite my lip, preparing for a retort, but none comes.

“I have to be a barrister. At my father’s firm.” He says it like it’s a death sentence.

“Well you went to school for writing, yeah? He can’t force you to throw away years of uni.” I can’t imagine if someone told me to change my path after so many years.

Baz laughs, but there’s no joy on his face. “You’ve underestimated my father. I studied both.”

I’m gobsmacked. It was near impossible for me to complete one degree, but he took on two? “You must be brilliant.”

“Too much for my own good.” He breaks his stare from the coffee table and sets his eyes on me. “So, what is it you do? Besides being a fucking shitty barista?”

“I’m at graduate school for social work.”

He looks surprised. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I made it through uni and decided I wanted more, or the course of study itself. A lot of people are surprised that I’m interested in school at all.

I feel the need to fill the silence. “That’s what my letters are, mostly. I’m a pen pal with a few kids at the care home I used to live in. They keep me going.”

“The care home you used to live in?” His voice is delicate, like I might break if he pushes farther. He doesn’t know that I was broken long ago.

“Yeah. Not as depressing as it sounds. I’m here, aren’t I?”

His eyes search my face. “I suppose you are.”

I yawn, taking a look at the clock. Somehow, it’s almost two thirty. “Do you want to watch Netflix or something?” I ask, not wanting to leave just yet. All my anger from before is finally melting away, having burned off in the warmth that is this room.

“Sure.” To my surprise, he’s smiling. Maybe he’s not as bad as he seemed. 

To test that theory, though, I insist we watch  _ The Great British Bake Off. _

You know, just to see.

**Baz**

I hadn’t stopped thinking about Snow since I yelled at him in the hallway. I kept remembering this one small mole on his face and couldn’t decide if I wanted to lick it or punch it.

I’m a tortured soul, I know.

Then I started listening to  _ The Dance _ , my comfort album. It reminds me of driving in the car with my mother before she passed. She would always cry to “Landslide,” but neither of us ever acknowledged it.

Now Snow is in my apartment, mentioning how he loves Fleetwood Mac and defending the honor of “Silver Springs.” I’m not quite sure what to do with myself, if I’m honest. I keep going back and forth between loathing and something weirdly close to yearning.

I have to keep reminding myself that he’s too much of a numpty to ever yearn for. 

Watching him watch  _ The Great British Bake Off _ , though, it’s hard not to yearn. His eyes keep drooping, and he’s terribly close to falling asleep.

“You know I made the drink wrong on purpose, right?” Snow moves his head sleepily towards mine.

“What?” A fire starts burning in my chest. It’s not quite an angry fire, though.

He smiles sleepily. “You ordered a peppermint mocha, but I gave you gingerbread. You were being a jerk, and I thought you deserved it, especially with a name like Tyrannus.”

This whole time I thought Snow was nothing more than an inattentive fool, but he’d been paying attention. Interesting.

“I gave that name to get a rise out of you.”

“Is it not your real name then?” Snow’s eyes are almost fully closed, his voice loose. 

“Oh, no. It is.” I kick his foot so his eyes will open, then look right into them. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, at your service.”

Snow looks overjoyed. He sits up and slides closer to me on the couch to punch my arm.

“So fucking posh.” His hand doesn’t leave my arm. “So fucking posh.”

Then he’s asleep on my shoulder. 

I can hardly move. All I can see are his golden curls. I wonder how soft they are, what it’d be like to run my fingers through them. That one dastardly mole is so close to my face now, and I can see the other lighter moles that dot his cheeks. They seem endless. I wonder what it’d be like to kiss one of them.

That’s when I realize there’s a small chance I might be slightly in love with Simon Snow.

***

I wake to a pounding on my door. I’m disoriented for a moment. That has to be the most sound sleep I’ve had in ages. It takes a moment to realize why I’m in my living room and why a warm blob is laying on top of me.

Literally on top of me. 

“Snow!” I hiss. He jumps, arms and legs up like a skydiver caught in the air. He looks just as bewildered as I feel. 

I try to ignore his messy curls and sleepy eyes as I make my way to the door.

“Do you know where Simon is?” A frantic woman asks.

“Who are-” I start. She starts pushing past me as she looks over my shoulder.

“Simon!” She shouts, far too close to my ear.

Snow doesn’t move from the couch. “Hey, Pen.” His voice is so soft.

I need to get myself in check.

“Care to explain what’s going on, Snow? Who’s this purple-haired friend?” I ask coolly, leaning against the doorframe.

The woman turns to me, frantic. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

“Alright!” Snow stands up, straightening his shirt. Like that would make him look more presentable in this moment. His shirt literally has holes in it. “Pen, this is Baz. He’s the one who’s been getting our mail.”

“Figured as much.” She looks me up and down, her brows furrowed.

“When you told me to leave last night, I came over here to bug him, and well, I fell asleep watching  _ Bake Off _ .” Snow looks embarrassed. It’s incredibly amusing.

She sighs. “I was so worried this morning when you weren’t back.”

“This morning?” I ask. 

“Yeah, earlier.” She says, working her purple hair up into a messy bun.

Snow glances over at me. “What time is it, Penny?”

“Noon.” She looks at me, then back at Snow. “Don’t tell me I woke you up.”

“We were up late!” Snow protests. “Wait. Did you say noon? Shit! I’m late for work.”

He hurriedly stands up, running past me.

“You’re welcome.” I say, even though he’s long gone.

Then I realize this Penny is still in my apartment. “I’m glad you found your Snow.”

“He’s hard to keep track of, as I’m sure you could tell.” She sticks out her hand. “Penelope Bunce.”

I return her handshake and smile, “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” Because why the fuck not get on her bad side.

Bunce raises an eyebrow. “This ought to be interesting.”

She’s got that right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know if Baz's mom would have liked Fleetwood Mac, but that is totally a reference to my mom. She played The Dance for me in the car so much growing up, and "Landslide" was always my favorite song. It made her cry, but she still played it for me. 
> 
> Nowadays, "Silver Springs" is my favorite off the album. Watch the video Baz talks about [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDwi-8n054s). Around 3:30, Stevie turns and starts singing to Lindsey (who the song is about). It is iconic and I get chills every time.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://effing-numpties.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Simon and Baz start an uneasy friendship.

**Simon**

I arrive at work late, but Agatha is already manning the register.

“Agatha! Thank you, I’m so sorry.” I rush behind the counter, putting on my apron and hat.

She turns, her blond hair flowing over her shoulder. Moments like that hurt me sometimes, when I remember what we used to be. Then I just have to remind myself that we were never really that in love, and I’m fine. Mostly fine.

“All good, Si. It’s a slow day.” Agatha’s voice is soft.

I’m about to take her place at the register when the door opens. It’s Baz. I catch myself smiling and dial it back. I don’t really know what happened last night, but it seems like our fighting is on hold.

“I’ve got this one,” I tell Agatha. I grab a cup and get going on his peppermint mocha. It feels good to know someone’s order by heart. I feel like a real barista.

I wave Baz over. “Here you go! One peppermint mocha latte with oat milk.”

“Thanks,” He says, his voice flat. 

I’m not even sure he noticed what I wrote on the cup.

**Baz**

Apparently he still thinks I’m an arsewipe, according to the name written on my coffee cup. He did make my order correctly, though, and it is fabulous. It doesn’t rid me of the sour taste in my mouth that lingers from when I entered the shop. He and that blond barista were looking at each other, and I felt as though there was something there.

It was foolish of me, really, to think he might be interested in men. People who look like him don’t look at people like me.

Even now, as I take my usual spot by the window, I can hear them laughing as they have a chat behind the counter. 

_ This is going to be interesting, _ Bunce had said. What exactly is “this” anyway? Having a new friend? I don’t need friends. I need to finish this book so that I can live in my apartment and not be a soul-sucking barrister for the rest of my life.

I keep trying to write, but I’m interrupted by the laughing of the blonde. It’s like little bells chiming. Infuriating, really. 

“Hard at work there, Basilton?” Snow slides into the open seat at my table.

“I was trying to be, until you showed up.” I start typing nonsense words to look busy.

I hear Snow shift in his seat. “So you’re back to hating me now? I make you a good cup of coffee, and this is the thanks I get?”

“The coffee is still a bit shit,” I lie.

“Yeah, fuck you too mate.” He pushes his chair away with a grunt.

Good. I don’t need any more friends.

***

I’m making scarily little progress on my story. I keep writing scenes that lead to nowhere. Edgar the evil sorcerer stands on his tower and broods. Jack the hero rides across the hillside, and princesses everywhere swoon. There’s no fighting, no plot. Just a couple of blokes sitting around having thoughts.

I should start packing now.

That’d make the whole Snow situation easier, too. It’s been almost a month since he fell asleep on my couch, and our interactions have amounted to barely a nod in the hallway. He makes me my usual coffee at the cafe without me even ordering. I should stop going to the cafe, but the coffee is so good that I can’t stop. Snow must know by now that he isn’t really fucking up my drink, because I down it every single time. It’d be much less embarrassing if father just came to collect me, and I never saw Snow again.

It’s becoming increasingly clear, though, that this is an impossible outcome. Especially when I open my door and see Bunce, Snow standing behind her like a sad puppy.

“Basilton,” she begins, “You two need to work out your differences so that I can get some sleep. This one,” she points to Snow, “can’t stop complaining about you. I am sick of it! Absolutely sick of it. So figure out what’s wrong, and fix it.”

Bunce pushes Snow inside and closes my door behind us. I’m starting to like Bunce more and more. She’s so no-nonsense. Unlike Snow, who is pretty much only nonsense.

“I brought over my computer, so we can just sit and do our work together. Pen won’t know if we don’t actually talk.” He’s staring at the floor. I can’t imagine how the conversation with Bunce went on their way out the door.

“You can join me over here.” I gesture to my dining room table, which is literally never used for dining. It’s small, but is a perfect fit for working. The ceiling-length windows and their view of London aren’t half bad either.

“Some view,” Snow says, as if reading my mind.

I’m already back at my computer, typing away at my story. I had just hit a part that I thought might be going somewhere, but thanks to Snow, I’ve lost my train of thought. Like I said, he’s complete nonsense. 

We get to work, Snow sitting across from me at the table. After a few minutes, I hit a roadblock and take a deep breath, looking out into the city. I realize that Snow is doing the same thing. I wonder if he ever started working at all. 

This provides the perfect opportunity, though, for me to sneak some glances at him. Looking at his soft expression and the lazy way he positions himself in his chair is even harder now that I know he’s spoken for. And probably straight. There’s no harm in just looking, though, is there?

Snow turns his head and meets my eyes. I hope he didn’t catch me staring. Christ, that’d be mortifying. 

“Have you always wanted to be a writer, Baz?” He asks.

“My mother was a writer. I always loved her bedtime stories and the way she’d read books to me. She’d always make silly voices.” I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath. “When she died, I guess I decided it was my mission to carry on her legacy, as a Pitch.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” When most people say this, it’s something they spit out quickly so they can change the subject. When Snow says it, every syllable is ripe with feeling. “I never knew my parents, but I think it would have made it worse if I did.”

I nod. It’s so easy to forget that I’m supposed to hate him when he talks to me like this. It would also be easier to remember to actively hate him if I wasn’t so in love with him, but we don’t have time to unpack  _ all _ of that.

“Is that why you’re studying social work?” I want to move on from the topic of my past, and try to find a way back to the comfortable space of our banter.

“Yeah,” he brightens up, “I want to make sure those kids have it better than I did. I want to keep them from getting angry, from getting in trouble. Like I did.”

I smile at that. Of course he’d been a troublemaker; he still is one.

Snow continues, “Especially Matthew, the one whose letter you gave me.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t burn it, Snow. You’re a real pain.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sighs, looking off into the distance now. “I just like keeping his spirits up. That way he doesn’t turn out like me and go out of his way to ruin some fancy bloke’s day.”

“Is that your way of apologizing? Because it’s certainly not working.” Okay, it’s totally working.

Snow rolls his eyes and shifts in his seat. “I’m sorry for being an angry jerk.” He kicks my foot under the table.

I really wish he would have let his foot rest against mine.

“Well, I’m sorry too.” I’m surprised by the seriousness in my voice, so I quickly try to shake it off. “You know some have said that I too am angry. Even vindictive.”

“I never would have guessed,” Snow chuckles.

“My ex boyfriend said that to me a lot. It’s why we broke up.” I try to gauge his reaction from his eyes. I don’t know if he would have guessed that I’m gay. I don’t know that his brain can process that much critical thinking.

“I don’t know how he dated you at all, what with the constant bickering.” Snow’s voice is playful, almost endearing.

I kick his foot. “You’re no walk in the park yourself.”

He kicks me back, but his foot lingers this time. 

We go back to work, the silence much more comfortable than before. Actually, it’s almost enjoyable. I get to write, and when I’m stuck, I can just look up at Snow and get lost for a bit. He doesn’t even notice, the idiot. He’s so engrossed in his work that he barely notices anything.

I notice everything, though. The curve of his arms as he scrawls away in his notebook. The way his curls flop over his forehead when he has his head bent to the table. The way his brow furrows as he works. It’s all so precious, I can hardly breathe. Loving Simon Snow just might kill me.

***

Working together becomes a regular thing. It’s comforting not to work alone anymore, to know I have someone to chat with if I get bored or lost. When we work together, Snow is more focused than I’ve ever seen him. He actually manages to finish what he sets out to do each day, which is apparently new for him.

On his breaks at the coffee shop, Snow sits down at my table and updates me on the kids from his care home. Christmas is in a few days, and he has big plans to surprise them. He just glows when he talks about them. It’s my favorite part of my day, aside from the fact that I have to see his girlfriend in the cafe. I probably shouldn’t assume anything, but I’m an anxious person. I can’t help listening in on their hushed conversations behind the counter, at her little laughs. Her laughs are obviously flirty, since Snow isn’t that funny, as I’d know from experience. A lot of experience, actually.

He comes over most nights. Bunce apparently kicks him out of the apartment so he’ll stop buzzing around her like a gnat. I’ve written more words just in these past two weeks than I did in the last two months. My deadline is slowly approaching, so I hope this inspiration sticks.

I’m writing at my dining room table, like usual, when Snow knocks on my door. 

“Come in. I have a pot of coffee on if you want some.” I turn around after I pour myself a cup. Snow is still standing in the doorway, staring at nothing. “Snow. Come in. You know I don’t bite.”

“What?” He finally looks at me and seems to realize he’s still at the door. “Sorry, I just have a lot of reading to do, and I’m not going to be able to get it all done.”

I stir in my peppermint mocha creamer (it’s good, but not as good as Snow’s lattes) and lean against the counter. “You don’t have to worry about me bothering you. I don’t enjoy talking to you that much anyway.”

Snow doesn’t react to the slight. In fact, he’s barely moved. “I’m just a slow reader.” 

“I can read it to you,” I say before I can stop myself.

His eyes light up, and he looks so relieved. My heart flutters, but it’s definitely just the coffee. 

“Well, let’s sit down then.” I make my way over to the table and push my things aside. I can take one night off from writing, especially if it keeps Snow coming to my door.

“It’s just one hundred pages on theory. I hope it’s not too boring,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

I nod, taking the pages from his hands. As I read, Snow takes notes, his hand moving furiously across the page. I can’t let myself look at him, otherwise I would get too distracted. I finish my first cup of coffee within thirty minutes. This is tedious, especially since I don’t understand any of it. 

More than once I find myself wondering why I’m doing this. I’d never have done something like this for someone before, so why start now? Snow’s making me soft. It’s so hard with all these late nights together, comfortable silence between us. I wish I knew what all this meant.

My mouth keeps moving even as I get lost in thought. It’s been an hour and a half now, and my back is starting to hurt from this chair. We’re so close to finishing that I don’t want to stop, but I’m certainly going to regret this tomorrow. Snow never looks up from his notes.

Finally, after two hours of reading, it’s done. I sigh and slide the pages across the table to Snow.

“Did you get all of that?” Now that I’m just speaking normally, I realize how raspy my voice is. I don’t know that I’ve spoken without stopping for so long before.

Snow looks up at me, a sly smile on his face. “Not a word. Can you start again?”

“Very funny. Do you want some coffee, now that your feverish note taking exercise is done?” I stand and turn the coffee maker back on. The old batch has gone cold, so I dump it down the drain.

He puts his books back into his backpack, and for a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to leave. It’s already eleven o’clock, and he might be worn out from the last two hours. I know that I am. 

“Baz, would you read me something from your book?” 

I nearly drop the coffee mugs. “It’s not finished.”

Snow slowly approaches the kitchen like I’m a deer that might be scared away. 

“I know, I’m just curious, is all,” he says.

“I guess I could read you something,” I smile, because when have I been able to say no to this idiot?

The coffee brews, and I pour two cups. Handing Snow his mug and gesturing to the couch, I grab my laptop and sit down. Unlike the first night we sat here, Snow sits on the middle cushion, right next to me. 

I take a deep breath, then start to read.

**Simon**

I don’t know how I got Baz to be so nice to me tonight. 

He really saved my ass with the readings I had to do. I could never have finished it in time. I didn’t think he would offer to read to me, but I’m starting to realize that I don’t know a lot about Baz. Like the other night when he mentioned his ex-boyfriend. For some reason, the fact that Baz is gay lit a match in my stomach that won’t go out.

The flame is burning nice and strong now, as I watch him read from his manuscript. I’ve situated myself close to him, so I can read over his shoulder as he talks. It’s quite pleasant being this close to him, actually. He smells like cedar and bergamot and his sweater is soft enough to rest my head on.

His voice has grown hoarser than I’d realized, but I’m enjoying this so much that I can’t imagine asking him to stop, not when the air seems ready to crackle with electricity.

I close my eyes, listening intently as he reads.

_ It was dark by the time Jack was seated at Edgar’s table. Jack traveled miles to get there, and yet the long banquet table seemed to keep them miles apart. How long Edgar had waited to have Jack in this room. How long Edgar had waited to make him sit and watch his precious world burn. _

_ “The chicken is fantastic.” Jack smiled.  _

_ “You should be less joyful to be seated at the table of the Grand Sorcerer, hero.” Edgar took a long sip from his goblet, not breaking eye contact. _

_ Jack sat back in his chair. “Why are you doing this, Edgar?” _

_ “Call me Grand Sorcerer.” _

_ “I know your name!” He slammed his fist on the table. “All the world need not suffer for your devices.” _

_ Edgar sighed deeply. “The world is worth nothing. Soon you will all see that.” _

_ “When will you see,” Jack said, his bright eyes shining, “that I can help you with that?” _

Baz scrunches up his face. “I’m not sure about that scene. Or the rest of the book after that, really.”

“It’s brilliant! Baz, you’ve got something really good here.” I find myself wanting to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, but think better of it. “I love that the hero is going to save the villain.”

“It just needs to be really good.” He sounds so defeated.

I put my hand on his arm. “It  _ is  _ really good.”

He’s just staring off into space, so I keep going. “I especially like that they’re going to get together in the end,” I say earnestly. For a reason I can’t place, the fact that the main characters are men in love makes me feel so warm and happy. I’m just a really strong ally, I suppose.

Baz’s eyes nearly fall out of his head. “Get together?”

“They’re clearly in love,” I say matter-of-factly. This is the hill I will die on.

He shifts so that he’s facing me a bit more, his laptop still perched on his lap. “Snow, they hate each other.”

I get closer to his face and wag my finger at him. “Jack wants to save Edgar. He really said ‘I can help you with that.’ I’m pretty sure he’s flirting.”

Baz raises his eyebrows.

“Besides,  _ you  _ don’t hate  _ me _ ,” I blurt out. I don’t know why I’ve said it, or why what he thinks of me has anything to do with his novel.

All the air is sucked out of the room, leaving only an electric charge. My face is so close to his face, as I’ve inched closer to him as my rant went on and on. We’re just sitting here, inches apart, waiting for someone to say something.

“I don’t hate you, Simon,” Baz finally says. His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it, and I get goosebumps at hearing my name.

“Prove it,” I breathe.

Then we’re kissing. I have to say, it’s more like crashing into each other, really. His lips meet mine and I push back, nearly sending him backward into the couch. Then he pushes back again, but I hold my ground.

Like I said, crashing.

It’s breathless and desperate, but I can feel Baz smiling against my lips. I don’t want him to pull away, so I bite his lip, bringing him closer. His hands find their way into my hair, and I hum softly as his hands find their grip. 

I think about all the times we’ve fought, and how there’s always been such a rhythm to our rows. There’s a rhythm to this kiss too, Baz moving his chin to some phantom song, perfectly timed. Up until this moment, I honestly thought I was straight. I still don’t know what’s going on exactly, but I know this is better than anything Agatha and I ever did. And it’s certainly better than fighting.

I lean forward, hungry to be closer to Baz. That’s when I remember his laptop, and we both jump as it slides off his lap. Baz catches it just before it hits the ground.

He looks up at me, his cheeks pink. I grin, which elicits a small, embarrassed smile from him. It’s a bit awkward, to be honest. I don’t think either of us were expecting that, and now we’re not quite sure what else to do.

“Keep reading to me,” I say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

He nods sheepishly. I wedge myself between him and the couch, my head on his chest. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but as I close my eyes, I can’t help but want to live in this moment forever.

**Baz**

Falling asleep reading is a funny thing. There are those moments where you just begin realizing what’s happening, and your brain practically screams  _ no _ . Then you read one line over and over again, trying to catch letters and form them into words, until your eyes are closed and you’re just thinking  _ Jack smiles, Jack, smiles, Jack smiles, _ until you’re in oblivion.

That’s probably how I didn’t notice that Simon fell asleep on me. Not like the last time, when it was by accident. This time, he’s made himself comfortable and is resting his head on my chest. I reach out and play with his hair because it wouldn’t be creepy to do so. Not after last night.

_ Last night _ . It hits me again, even more fresh now that the morning sun lights the way. I was kissing Simon Snow. He practically dared me to kiss him, and then I did. Well, really, it was mutual. I mostly fell into him and he did the rest. Then he fell asleep on me, one arm tossed across my stomach, keeping me in place.

Christ, I’m living a charmed life.

Snow’s mobile buzzes on the table, and I lean over to grab it, careful not to wake him up. If I can text Bunce and let him know where Snow is, maybe she won’t come barging in here again. Maybe we’ll get a repeat of last night.

_ Agatha: Hey, Si. Just a reminder to NOT BE LATE today. Like you were the other day and most other days before that. See you soon! x  _

Hurt stabs me through the stomach. He’s got a bloody date with this Agatha, probably the blonde from the coffee shop. It’s not their first date, either. How stupid could I have been to think this was something real? Does Snow just go around kissing random blokes for the fun of it?

I was right the whole time, really. He  _ is _ that masculine main character, making princesses everywhere swoon. He’s basically Jack from my novel, who is also a straight asshole, no matter what Snow thinks. Simon Snow. Such a fairytale name, and now he has his perfect fairytale girl.

I get up, pushing Snow off of me. 

“What’s going on?” He moves slowly, hands flying up to his eyes to block the light.

“It looks like you’re running late,” I say flatly, handing him his mobile.

Snow’s eyes widen, and he practically runs to grab his coat. He stops short at the door.

“Thank you, Baz.” He sounds sincere, but I’m not having it right now.

“Out you go, Snow.” I wince when I realize it rhymed, but it still seemed to have its desired effect. Snow’s eyebrows crease, and he looks wounded. He leaves without looking back.

I think I lied earlier, I realize. I do hate Simon. I hate him so damn much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I had to slip a Fangirl reference in there!! I've always loved the scene where Cath reads to Levi, so I gave it to Simon and Baz.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://effing-numpties.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Baz finishes his manuscript after a push from Fiona, and Simon realizes some things about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the road! I hope you've enjoyed if you've read this far.
> 
> As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta, @Aristocratic_Otter.

**Baz**

I haven’t slept since Snow left the night we kissed. It’s only been two days, but I’ve been up each night, feverishly writing.

I think all of this is worse because it’s nearly the anniversary of my mother’s death. I feel like I can’t let her down. I only have two months left to get a book deal before her dreams vanish into thin air. I can’t let her go away like that. I need to make her proud.

These sleepless nights have given me a chance to make real progress, though. Now, it’s the night before Christmas Eve (I’m sure Snow would call it  _ Christmas Eve Eve _ because he’s an imbecile). My mobile rings, and I see Aunt Fiona’s contact photo light up my screen. 

“Hey, Fiona,” I say, leaning back into the couch.

“Baz! Happy Christmas!” Fiona sounds slightly drunk.

“Happy Christmas.”

“You don’t sound too happy, Basil. What’s got you down?” Fiona has always been able to read me scarily well. I hate it.

“You know what’s got me down,” I grumble.

Fiona has the audacity to laugh. “I mean besides the anniversary. It’s always hard this time of year for us, but you sound worse than that.”

“What a glowing compliment.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“Is it a boy?” Fiona slurs.

“No!” I blurt out, even though it totally is. “It’s my novel. It’s shit, and this guy told me he thinks the characters are in love, which is so off base.”

Fiona laughs, and I pull the phone away from my ear. Christ, she’s loud.

“Baz. I think you like that boy, which is why you’re scared to admit that he’s right about the characters. Everything you’ve ever written is gay, kid.” 

I stop to consider it for a moment. Fiona is mostly right; ever since I was a kid I was writing about boys holding hands. It’s downright embarrassing. 

“What would she have thought?”

“Are you kidding me? She read everything you wrote.” Fiona pauses, and it sounds like she’s taking a big gulp of whatever she’s drinking. “Your mother still loved you. Write that story how it’s supposed to go. How you  _ want _ it to go.”

Drunk Fiona always thinks she knows what’s best for me, and she’s almost always right. I hear some shouts on her end and realize she must be in a bar. 

“I’m coming back, you guys!” She calls into the bar. To me she says, “Just go find that kid and be gay, okay? Happy Christmas.” And then she hangs up.

Fiona always knows exactly what to say. She’s right, of course. I’m hopelessly in love with Snow, but he’s taken. He’s straight. 

Maybe I can give the ending we deserve to Jack and Edgar. It _ is _ kind of romantic to pull the man you love out of a fire he started to burn the world down, isn’t it? To kiss him in the fire and forget the world is burning for a minute. It certainly would be a new take on the fantasy genre. It just might work.

I grab my laptop and start reading from the scene where Jack saves Edgar. Snow was right, I realize. It’s painfully obvious that Edgar loves Jack, and that Jack isn’t this straight boy main character I made him out to be. The words flow out of me as I write the story I wish I could have. Writing hasn’t felt this easy to me in a long time.

I don’t stop until the sun comes up. I print out the manuscript, just to feel it in my hands. It’ll need a lot of editing before I send it off to publishers, but this is enough for now. For the first time I feel like I can see my future in front of me. Staying in this apartment, writing by the fire. Going to my favorite cafe, and churning out gay literature that makes my father angry. Simon Snow haunting my doorstep.

My breakthrough came thanks to him. Maybe it’s the Christmas spirit, or all the sappy writing I’ve been doing over the past few hours, but I realize he needs to read this. He needs to know that Jack and Edgar got their happy ending. 

I grab a red pen and scrawl a note on the title page, then leave the towering manuscript on his doorstep. 

_ Happy Christmas, Snow _ , I whisper.

**Simon**

“You guys be good! Happy Christmas!” I call, waving to the children as I start the walk back to my apartment. 

I’m so glad that I made time to visit the care home before Christmas. I brought them all presents, and even though the gifts were small, the kids showed such appreciation for them. I remember what it’s like to have so little that getting anything feels like winning the lottery. It kind of makes me realize that I’ve won the lottery with my life. 

Anyway, seeing them makes me feel a bit less broken inside. Each time I give a kid a hug or make them smile, I’m patching the cracks in young Simon’s heart. If I can help them, maybe I can help myself. 

The one thing that would make this Christmas better is talking to Baz. It seemed like we both really wanted that kiss, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe he reunited with his ex, or he realized that I’m horrible. Either way, I haven’t been over to his apartment, and he hasn’t been to the cafe.

I’ve taken to ranting to Agatha about Baz, since she can read relationships really well. I thought it would be awkward for her, but she just smiled knowingly when I talked about Baz. It’s like when Penny declared Baz my crush. Somehow, they knew I wasn’t straight before I did. I still don’t know what’s going on, but I know that I like Baz. I really miss him.

_ You never know what Christmas will bring _ , Agatha had said,  _ maybe you’ll get a miracle. _

I had scoffed at her, knowing that I had never had a miracle in my life. Living in the care home all those years, and then the times spent struggling in university -- it was always hard.

Today, though, spending time with these kids has felt like a little miracle. Penny and Agatha are miracles in my life, too. Even in some small, twisted way, Baz might be a miracle too. 

I drag myself up the stairs to my apartment and put the key in the lock. As I step over the threshold, I trip over something and go tumbling to the ground. Thank goodness Penny isn’t here, because I’d never hear the end of this.

I grumble as I move to a seated position, taking a look at the object that tripped me. It’s a huge stack of papers, and a note is written in red pen on the top.

_ For Simon _

_ You were right. Happy Christmas. _

_ Tyrannosaurus Basilton _

After a moment, I realize what I’m holding in my hands. Baz’s manuscript. He finished it! I’m ecstatic for him, but I also feel an ache in the pit of my stomach. Is this his way of saying goodbye? 

I take off my scarf and coat and settle on the couch, only intending to read the first few pages of the story. Instead, I’m instantly sucked in. I love a good Chosen One story, but Baz has turned the trope on its head. The Chosen One, Jack, goes to the Grand Sorcerer’s castle to bargain with him. It’s clear that there’s something between them, especially in the parts I remember from what Baz read to me.

As I’m getting into the real meat of the story, my stomach grumbles so loudly that I startle. I drag the heap of papers to the kitchen with me and read as I make myself a sandwich. I’m absolutely entranced. I wave to Penny when she comes home but point to my book and shoo her away. I have to know what happens.

Baz crafts the whole world of this story so beautifully. I usually hate reading because I can’t visualize what’s going on, but this is incredibly vivid. 

I can feel myself squinting as it gets dark outside, but I keep going. After some time, Penny must turn a light on, because my eyes feel less strained as I read. I feel bad for not thanking her, but I didn’t even notice her come over.

When I reach the end, it’s late and my eyes burn. Edgar and Jack are in a forest, and Edgar has started his fire to end all fires. 

“Yes!” I scream when they finally kiss.  _ He did it _ . 

It’s beautiful, really, the two of them kissing in the forest as the world burns away. Jack can’t help being a hero, though.

_ Finally, Jack pulled away from Edgar.  _

_ “I love you, Edgar, but you have to go save yourself,” Jack pleaded. “I can destroy the fire crystal. Just get out of here.” _

_ “I will not let you do that.”  _

_ Jack thought he saw Edgar shed a tear. He had broken Edgar at last.  _

_ “Go.” Jack pushed Edgar away, out of the circle of flame. _

_ Jack took his sword to the crystal, unsure of what would happen. The flames danced before his eyes, lighting up the dark forest. On the horizon, he could see Edgar watching him. Jack waved to him as the flames ceased, and the fire crystal exploded, sending him to the harsh earth. _

_ “Goodbye, my love,” Jack whispered. _

_ Goodbye indeed. _

I turn the page, but there’s nothing else there. That’s how the story ends, with Jack dying. I absolutely cannot stand for this. I haphazardly gather the papers up and march myself across the hall.

Just like the first time I knocked, I know this is probably a bad idea. As per usual, I can’t stop myself.

Baz opens the door, and I immediately go off on him.

“Jack dies?” I say incredulously. “That makes no sense for his development! What about happy endings, Baz? Do you hate being happy?”

“It’s one in the morning,” Baz says, his voice flat. I take a look at him for the first time since he opened the door. His hair is loose and parted at the side, the waves falling around his face. No hair gel. Interesting.

“Jack cannot die, Baz.”

He rolls his eyes and starts closing the door. “Go back to your girlfriend, Snow. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Actually, it’s after midnight, so it’s Christmas morning,” I correct. Then I fully process what he’s said. “My girlfriend? Baz, you know Penny is my best friend.”

“I mean Agatha. The blonde?” He says this like I’m seeing so many people that I need a reminder of which person he’s talking about.

“She’s my ex-girlfriend. We just work at the coffee shop together,” I explain, getting defensive. 

Baz’s eyes go wide. “Oh, I just thought...” he trails off.

“It’s been over for a long time. Besides, she never made me feel the way you do,” I say, and my face flushes. 

“How’s that?”

“Like this.” I drop his manuscript and kiss him. My hands immediately fly to his hair. It’s so soft and wavy without the hair gel. I like him like this.

**Baz**

I like him like this. Close to me, right where I’ve wanted him for so long.

This is beyond my wildest dreams, and I really hope I’m not hallucinating. I’ve had more coffee than I’ve had sleep the past few days.

When we pull apart, Simon rests his forehead against mine and smiles.

“Can you not kill Jack, please?” 

I laugh. “Anything for you, Simon.”

“You’re gonna get a book deal,” he says. “It’s brilliant.”

I feel myself blushing. “I really hope so. Then I could stay here and be with this guy I really like.”

Simon smiles mischievously. “What’s he like?”

“He’s a real idiot,” I deadpan. “That’s what I like most about him.”

“The guy I like is an idiot too!” Simon exclaims, throwing his arms in the air. 

I pull him into a hug, and he yawns loudly in my ear.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles.

“Do you want to sleep in an actual bed tonight?” I ask, my back protesting at the thought of sleeping on the couch again.

“Couch, couch, couch!” Simon chants like a child. 

Sleeping on the couch it is.

I fall asleep for the first time in days curled up with Simon in front of the fire. Damn, I sure could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baz's hair transformation thanks to [this post](https://rainbowrowell.tumblr.com/post/633463920327262208/no-you-were-right-i-was-thinking-of-awtwb-baz). He found love and forgot mousse. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://effing-numpties.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Also yes, the cheesecake eating is absolutely a Golden Girls reference.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://effing-numpties.tumblr.com/)


End file.
